


Made of Moonlight

by RisingEmpress



Category: Gerald's Game - Stephen King, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Childhood Trauma, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dreams and Nightmares, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Imprisonment, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Supernatural Elements, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21849898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisingEmpress/pseuds/RisingEmpress
Summary: When the terror comes from within, who better to help than a psychiatrist with intricate knowledge on the subject?A Gerald's Game inspired story about survival, trauma, fear and maybe a dash of love.
Relationships: Will Graham/Gerald (Gerald's Game), Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're familiar with the story this is loosely based on you're aware of the difficult themes you're about to approach. This is not a fluff story by any means, that said I think it contains some humor as well! Please let me know if I missed any warning tags, and I hope this is enjoyable!

A romantic getaway is usually a last ditch effort. Rarely does one have to explicitly state the need for romance and escape unless something is about to break. So naturally, Will’s expectations were loaded. Dreadful. Desperately clinging on to hope like a blind man, refusing to see the cracks spreading in his marriage.

Gerald was always mellow in his blindness. _Everything is fine_ , he used to say, all the while refusing to meet Will’s eyes as he spoke. As much as they wanted to neither could believe the words, and as the lush greenery of the forest enveloped them, Will managed a small smile.

“This place is beautiful,” he stated almost carefully, painfully aware of how eager his husband’s toes were to be stepped on. He could already hear the sour question of whether the house his _oh so successful_ lawyer of a husband had purchased them back home wasn’t enough. But no such words were spoken, and Will turned to place a hand on Gerald’s arm where it stayed on the steering wheel. Sour in his stillness, but silent. Will squeezed in appreciation.

“Tommy’s, right?” Will asked and instantly felt a wave of dread wash over him. Wasn’t it just perfect, making sure to bring up his husband’s more successful and infinitely boastful colleague as icing on the cake. The lending of the cottage was like a slap in the face, one that Gerald had absorbed simply because Will had nearly jumped with excitement. Will was aware his husband expected him to be grateful, and that simple fact drove his hand back to his lap again.

A murmur of “I’ll get the bags” was all Will got when they stepped out of the car, and for a moment he was stunned by the hidden gem the cottage truly was. Painted white and covered with bright green ivy climbing up on one side, the inviting sunset that glowed through trees and spread as an orange welcome mat across the porch.

Gerald marched through it all without a care, carrying an absurd amount of bags up the steps that he refused to let Will help him with when he reached for them. Big strong man, huh? Sure. Will decided to play along; trailing along up the steps and pretending not to be annoyed when roaming hands searched around in Gerald’s pockets for the keys.

Will prayed they hadn’t been left behind, but his prayers were interrupted by a curious, dark brown and black, wolf-looking dog running up to bark menacingly at a comfortable distance.

“What the fuck?” A displeased grimace spread across Gerald’s face to add to the one he was already so charmingly sporting.

Will looked around for a sign of the owner before remembering exactly how deep into the forest they were. There was no collar on the dog, and it seemed nearly feral, baring sharp teeth before whining when Will stepped forward.

“No. Don’t.” Gerald warned with a sigh. “When a dog growls at you it isn’t asking to be rescued, Will. Just leave it.”

The warnings were disregarded with a mutter as Will walked up to the dog anyway, but just as his hand reached out snapping jaws came threateningly close with continuous snarling. “Jesus, sorry.” Will instantly retreated and took a few steps back, and watched as the dog ran back into the shelter of the trees again.

Will had hoped the distraction of another creature would take some of the pressure off, and he struggled to meet Gerald’s gaze as they went inside. He glanced back to the woods one last time, making out a pair of pointy ears, a long tongue and dark eyes glimmering between bushes and branches.


	2. Chapter 2

The whole trophy wife trope isn’t exactly the same when it’s husband, and with no kids for the foreseeable future Will had remained a teacher at the FBI academy. Both their jobs were draining, time consuming. Not soul crushing by any means but as needy as newborns. Gerald was never necessarily eager to show Will off to anyone at all, but still expected he be doted upon whenever they returned from work.

Will was a grown man, perhaps not as grey or aged as his husband but certainly old enough to realize he’d made his bed. Four years of sticking together like glue, it was no doubt chipping with time but Will insisted he add another layer. The certainty and security of his marriage was possibly the only factor strong enough to keep him trying, keep his hands busy as they washed the dishes after the meal he had so obediently prepared.

“Oh, thank you.” he smiled a genuine one when Gerald was suddenly by his side, generously offering to help and proceeding to dry cutlery and plates.

“It’s awfully quiet here, huh?” Gerald let out a soft sigh in contentment, thin lines appearing around his eyes as a smile tugged at his lips. Will still felt his heart swell at the sight of those lines, and there wasn’t a bone in his body that resented the heavy hand that came to rest on his hip.

“Peaceful.” Will added and mirrored a smile, allowing himself to be kissed and held tightly to the other man’s chest. Be damned if he didn’t try. And besides, he wasn’t carrying the load all by himself, Gerald was eager to add another layer as well.

“I have something I want us to try.”

~

It was refreshing to see Will wasn’t the only one who’d groomed and dressed for the occasion; the two men equally eager to pleasantly surprise one another with new, expensive underwear. Simple, black. Elegant. But it still made Will more intent on showing his appreciation, spreading his legs invitingly as he laid on the bed.

“C'mere, what are you doing?” Will smiled through the words, a blush flaring across his cheeks by the way his husband chuckled, rooting around in one of the bags.

“I told you,” Gerald playfully started, grinning like the devil as he approached the bed, two pairs of silvery handcuffs dangling around his fingers. Will’s instant reaction was rejection, although the second one of persistence proved stronger. He didn’t move from the bed.

Gerald swung the handcuffs around his finger with a playful smile, already wrapping a hand around Will’s wrist to bring it up to the headboard. “Don’t you want to play?”

It was difficult to pinpoint whether it was excitement or terror that bubbled within Will’s chest, and his breath picked up as steel closed around his wrist and the wooden pole. As if he didn’t feel trapped already.

“I don’t know,” Will confessed, swallowing thickly and searching his lover’s face for a sign of understanding. “Maybe we can talk about it first?”

Will was attempting to tread carefully, as always, but it didn’t falter Gerald from sighing and turning away. “You always want to talk,” the older man muttered, huffing as he picked up the glass from the nightstand and went into the bathroom. “Constantly, fuckin’ yapyapyap.”

Both frozen in anger and with a lingering hope to impress or attempt to rekindle something, Will stayed on the bed and simply frowned as he listened to the faucet, filling the glass before Gerald returned to the room.

“Excuse me?” Will sneered, staring at his husband in disbelief with a clenched jaw. “You think I’m the problem?”

“Well, you’re clearly not the solution.” Gerald grinned again and took a swig of water before putting the glass down, and Will nearly grinded his teeth to crumbs in fury.

“Where are the keys?” Will was dangerously close to tears, incapable of tolerating the physical imprisonment along with the emotional. It certainly didn’t help when Gerald climbed on top of the bed and between Will’s legs.

Handcuffs in one hand, Gerald reached for Will’s arm which jerked away by the contact. “Come on, baby. Give it a try,” he purred, his low and calm voice clashing with the rough touch pinning Will’s wrist up and securing it with dooming metal once more.

“No. No, I don’t want to.” Will squirmed and pulled relentlessly on the handcuffs, bringing a knee up to knock forcefully into Gerald’s rib. “Fucker. Stop.”

Will hadn’t been afraid until his objections only seemed to entice his lover. He could see how the older man slowly became consumed by rage; years of pent up frustration and stress all coming out with a bang, wrapping a warm hand around Will’s neck with a threatening squeeze.

“Do you have any idea how much I do for you?” he growled, tightening his hold until he shook with the effort and pure rage. Will could hear both their heartbeats, thudding fast and hard as if they were in a brawl of their own. “You should be fucking grateful, you should be-” Will suddenly gathered the strength to cut his husband off, bringing his leg up between their chests to kick him away, panting harshly as he sends him flying back, crashing to the floor with a sickening rumble and a _smack_. 

A terrible silence filled the room. Will could only hear his own breathing, heavy and shaky with fright as he stared at the end of the bed, waiting for any movement. He arched up and could see his husband’s hand, fingers twitching before a moan followed by a gurgling sound broke the silence.

“Gerald?” Will was frozen in place for a second or two, listening to sick, wet and agonizingly slow breaths before pulling at the handcuffs in panic, tears welling up in despair. “Gerald-”

“I always knew you had something dark inside, but murder?” Gerald tutted and leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom. Will’s heart was pounding, every breath of air short and panicked as he looked to his husband’s hand, still on the floor at the end of the bed. And yet he was there; in warm flesh and blood pumping with life, the same familiar lines gathering under his eyes when he flashed a small smile.

Great, he was already hallucinating.

Will’s gaze alternated between two realities, the same man in two different worlds. He swallowed hard. “Manslaughter,” he stated and had no idea why the _fuck_ that was important, because fact of the matter was his husband was dead. His corpse was still sputtering blood and brain matter across the floor. With the keys to Will’s freedom out of reach. Maybe he should’ve been more broken up about the former.

A breeze pushed through the open window, making the hairs at the back of Will’s neck stand before it washed away Gerald’s existence. Not before he could wink and give a taunting little wave, of course. _See you later_.

To scream for help at the top of his lungs was energy wasted, Will was aware of that. Even if he knew no one would hear his cries, he did it anyway. Just to be able to reassure himself he had at least tried. He screamed until the taste of blood crept up to the back of his tongue, until his voice was nothing but a hoarse wheeze. He coughed and looked to the glass of water on the nightstand.

No. Not until it was absolutely necessary would Will even attempt to get that glass of water. He closed his eyes and imagined sour candy, salt and sugar on his tongue to stimulate saliva before swallowing. God knows how long he could be trapped, better not drain the little resources of survival he had.

The sudden sound of paws against wood was anything but a comfort. Will groaned and tilted his head back against the headboard, glaring at the door and listening to the clicking of claws and incessant sniffing. The long tongue was drooping, the dog panting and whining as it carefully walked through the door and over to Gerald’s corpse. Will could do nothing but watch as that tongue met wood and skin, lapping up the blood and gnawing on still warm flesh. Tears began to roll down his cheeks and he kicked out into nothing, stomping his feet against the mattress in an attempt to scare the creature away. Nature had its course; it was cruel and unknowing. But was it too much to ask for the warmth to leave his husband’s corpse before it was nothing more than dinner to a stray?

“Stop. Fucking- Get the _fuck out_!” he tried to yell, his voice weak and raw and only ending up coughing again. He continued to slam his legs down either way, and the dog finally stepped away from the body. Will watched it sniff around the room before he thrashed on the bed again, growling until the dog simply walked back out of the room. That fucking dog would be the death of him. With those dark eyes and sharp teeth, they’d sink into his skin while Will was still breathing. He falls asleep anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings are in the tags. Thank you for reading. ♡

Will had a spectacular view of the night sky like this. The moon seemed abnormally large and bright, as well as the stars glimmered peacefully and unknowingly. The world continued its course just like any day. The sun setting, the moon rising. The ominous owl hooting from the treetops. Nature doesn’t care for prisoners.

The wind was bitter and cold now, and unable to move to gain warmth Will was absolutely freezing. He made himself chuckle by thinking the dog wouldn’t be the end of him, he’d die from fucking hypothermia. Just an open window in late August would be enough. He laughed until he broke down in tears instead.

Darkness enveloped the room. Will listened intently to any sound at all, any movement that would be his salvation or end. The only thing palpable in the silent darkness was the moon, bright and relentless. It triggers a long repressed memory to surface.

“Come sit in my lap,” his father whispered with a warm arm heavy around Will’s shoulders as they looked up to the night sky. Will is cold. He wants to go back inside, where the privacy and warmth of his own bed would be far more comforting. Yet his limbs move by their own accord, standing up on shaking legs to seat himself again. 

His feet don’t reach the ground anymore. There’s something pressing up against him, fighting against material but all the while stubbornly persistent and unavoidable. He focuses on the stars and doesn’t move until a horrible cry in release slips from his father’s lips.

_You don’t want anyone thinking you prefer boys over girls, do you?_

Will comes to with a hoarse scream. He trashes on the bed, tugging on the metal around his wrists until he fears he might break bones and his hands turn icy cold and numb. He chokes out a sob as he stills, freezing up entirely when two small, glimmering bulbs catch his attention from the corner of the room.

It’s too dark. Will can’t make out any shapes or traces of a face or body. His heart beats fiercely in his ears, eyes watering as he dares not even blink.

Until the pair of eyes across the room does.

Air is sucked out of him as if an unmoving weight clamped down on his chest. His body curls into itself as he presses himself back against the headboard, hyperventilating and frozen in place as his gaze never leaves the black corner of the room. He was going to die. He was going to be strangled. Sliced up into pieces. He was a sitting duck waiting for a bullet, a flower begging to be picked; torn from the ground by the roots.

“Please help me,” was all he managed to croak out, his harsh and desperate breathing filling the room as he receives no answer at all. The creature only inches forward, allowing the moonlight to reveal pale skin, a prominent cheekbone and short, silvery hair. The eyes are still veiled in shadows, but lush lips separate to bare a row of sharp teeth.

Will realizes the gesture is a threat, a show of strength, but it’s almost as if the creature is… stunned. Shocked. Perhaps even fascinated. The light dances off those fangs once more and Will shakes his head automatically, tears starting to stream down his face. Whatever, or whoever this creature is; it’s not Will’s savior but merely another threat. Another set of teeth that wants to pierce his skin.

He closes his eyes tightly, fists clenching in their bounds and chest heaving with panicked air that he desperately tries to still. He was deep into the forest, he was without solace, he’d had a one sided conversation with a corpse. He was going mad. This was simply a matter of monsters in the dark.

“You’re not real,” he started shakily, repeating the words and almost daring the creature to prove its existence. “You’re only made of moonlight.”

When Will dares to open his eyes the corner is entirely black, and panic starts to rise when Will can’t make out the outline of the creature in the darkness anymore. All he can see is the dresser and an incessant amount of bags on the floor.

He lets out a breath in relief but his heart suddenly aches, for how quickly his horrible life was taken from him. As many times before, he convinces himself his imagination is playing tricks on him. He’s hallucinated before, even previously to accidentally murdering his husband. And the moonlight didn’t help. He lies down again and cries himself to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

A warm wetness floods his crotch. It’s not intentional, nor is it pleasant. He’s almost thankful no attention is drawn to it. It soaks his underwear, running down the insides of his thighs and pools underneath him. It makes it so much worse, because now there’s friction. The intrusion doesn’t glide along easily between his cheeks anymore, instead getting caught against wet fabric and pressing upward instead.

_You trust me don’t you, William?_

He’s awakened by his vocal cords rubbed raw, tearing the delicate strings with a sharp, animalistic scream. The warmth isn’t between his legs anymore but all over, cocooning him in and he screams until his voice gives out completely.

He’s forced into silence by his own body, but now he can hear the faint chirping of birds. He swallows dryly and instantly looks to the corner again only to find it empty. Whether he’s relieved or disappointed is a question he doesn’t know the answer to.

The sun is out, high and proud on the light blue sky and beaming happily through the glass.

Glass.

Will pulls himself up in one fast motion. The window is shut. Maybe the wind- no, even the handle-

The fucking window is _shut_. Well that explains the pleasant temperature, and his dream, Will supposes. But it’s more confounding and terrifying than anything else. The moonlit man was real, there in the room with him.

Will gags on nothing but dry air. He’d been discovered but not rescued. The creature or man that crept out of the moonlight had taken one look at him and decided the best way to help was to close the fucking window. Will suddenly wishes to see those glimmering eyes again only so he can give him a piece of his mind.

“Poor Will,” Gerald sighed, joining the club of misery and sitting on the edge of the bed. Vibrant and alive as ever. “Trapped in a marriage, trapped in this house. In his own mind. Always wishing to be rescued.”

Will can’t spare the energy to argue with his husband even after death. It’s not like he can disagree anyway, and instead he tries to reach out with his foot for just a touch. A sign, even if he’s aware the man beside him is a hallucination, just a nudge of physical contact would be inexplicably comforting. But his foot simply glides over the sweat-soaked covers and over the edge.

Gerald’s presence was always equally taunting and desperately needed. Will resents the fact there’s no snickering voice or grin to distract him anymore, and now the dry ache in his throat is unavoidable. He looks to the glass of water on the nightstand.

He slips his leg off the bed before attempting to do the same with the other, but his heel merely graces the side before a jolt of pain runs up and down his arm. How fucking romantic, a king size bed. Put more space between us, it’s what we need to tolerate each other.

It wouldn’t be so upsetting if the half-full glass was across the room, but of course it’s right there on the nightstand. Perfectly out of his reach, just like everything else.

The newfound heat in the room doesn’t just cause Will’s hands to swell and lower back to perspire and dampen the sheets, but makes his husband’s corpse deteriorate quicker, oozing of the rotten scent of death. It’d soon lure flies and beetles and god knows what creatures to join Will in his slow demise. At least he’d be entertained by something other than his imagination.

His mind wanders back to the moonlight man. He was no shadow, no figure of imagination or a hallucination. Not a memory floating to the surface. Why hadn’t he helped? Where did he come from? Why didn’t he say anything, and why couldn’t Will get the sight of broad shoulders and lean muscles out of his head? The man had almost an elegant look, a proud poise that seemed impossible to possess whilst hiding in the dark corner of someone else’s home. He’d closed the window, almost as if he was concerned Will would catch a cold.

Will snorts and turns on his side as much as he’s capable to watch the sky through a dehydrated haze. Perhaps moonlight man simply wanted to choose which way Will was to go. As the sun falls low across the sky, so does Will.

~

“You would cause so much pain.” The words are embalmed with concern, as is the twitch to his father’s lips that makes thin lines appear underneath light eyes. Will believes him. Allows warm hands to close around his wrists, and doesn’t protest when he’s crushed underneath an imposing weight against his spiderman sheets. “Or they would blame you.”

He’s suffocating. Empty lungs scream for air, muscles ache from the pressure and his palms tingle and itch. His legs are too heavy, refusing to obey the brain’s signals to move, and instead he clenches teeth around warm skin and pulls.

He swallows thick, metallic liquid as if his life depends on it. The overwhelming taste makes him gag, but it’s immensely rejuvenating. Bone clenches and moves beneath his teeth but it only makes them sink deeper, keeping his source close as his tongue slips between punctured skin.

When a steady hand wraps around his neck and presses him down is when he opens his eyes, and in all his glory is the creature of the night, the monster under his bed sprawled out on top of him, seeping blood from his neck and onto Will’s bare chest.

The pressure around his neck tightens. Those dark eyes are well hidden behind light grey strands of hair but Will knows he’s being watched, so fiercely studied as he fights for air. Just as he’s fought with Gerald, imprisoned as he’d been by his father. This man was the embodiment of Will’s every terror; it was only nature’s course he’d be the end. The last thing Will sees before unconsciousness claims him is a smile.

Will doesn’t know whether to be thankful he’s not out for long, only enough to be freed of the weight on his chest, and he can hazily register how his left arm drops onto the bed with a heavy thud. Disoriented, his arm swings wildly as he attempts to reach out for his demon stood silently by the side of the bed.

Blood drips to the floor as chinese water torture. The smell of rotting flesh fills the room, and just as Will’s stomach churns and twists long fingers slip between his lips and press down far on the back of his tongue with almost surgical precision. Will gags before the digits pull back, tracing along his tongue and causing both a confused and appreciative moan. It’s good, being touched.

Fingertips slide back down his throat, knuckles pushing past his lips and Will finally vomits warm bile and blood. His throat is on fire, dry and sticky. For as rejuvenating liquid crimson may have been Will was eternally grateful moonlight man knew the risks of an iron overdose, especially with nothing else in Will’s system. The risk of disease or just plain common knowledge that tearing skin and feasting upon the blood wasn’t exactly safe or sane however didn’t bother him. Will had never been normal, nor did he have anything to lose.

The steady hand slowly pulls away, but Will wraps his newly freed one around the wrist and looks up. They’re almost equally soiled in red, both a little out of breath and intoxicated in the darkness.

There’s too many words swirling around in Will’s head, creeping up his throat but the glimmer of those dark eyes keeps them at bay. If moonlight man had wanted to stay, he would have. If he’d wanted to set Will free he would’ve released both arms from their cuffs. If he’d wanted to kill him… he would have.

Although Will wishes he could hold on longer, his fingers shake and twitch before slipping from the other man’s slender wrist and onto the bed again. The thick, overwhelming amount of blood runs past his collarbones and over his shoulders, trickling past his neck to drip next to his ear. His vision blurs, ears buzzing as the velvety feel of his throat causes it to seize up, choking on the strong aftertaste of another human being’s life force. He can already hear the whispers of his past beckoning him closer, to death or the unconscious, Will doesn’t need to know to follow.


	5. Chapter 5

Neither birds nor sunlight is the reason he blinks awake. It’s the sound of claws against wood, heavy limbs thudding against the floor in purposeful strides over to Will’s dying figure. A wet nose nudges against his arm, sniffing before piercing the skin with long fangs and a hungry tongue.

Will screams. Or at least attempts to. It’s more of a sickening roar. Revived by fresh pain, he slams his fist against fur before throwing himself off the edge of the bed, chained still by the one wrist. The dog pants, ears curiously pointed up as blood and saliva drips from its tongue, seemingly uncertain of whether to attack or retreat. But Will is certain.

His half naked body is near marinated in dried blood, he may as well have a ribbon around his torso tied in a flattering bow. A gift wrapped piece of meat, to be eaten before it spoils.

“You’re disappointed,” Gerald says, regarding his own rotting corpse in something resembling self-pity before trailing over to the wolf-like dog, stroking over the dark ears. “Your little creature of the night didn’t so much as feed you water, let alone set you free.”

Will would cry if he had any moisture left in his body. He suddenly longs for that strong, prodding hand inside of him again, that presence that he somehow found so comforting. His skull vibrates, muscles heavy as lead as he picks up the glass of water and sips it slowly while his hand trembles with the effort. He knew what was real.

“I guess I’ll have to set myself free.”

The empty glass hurls across the room and scares both the ghost of the man and dog away before Will reaches up and wraps his fingers around his thumb, using all his remaining strength to bend it inwards until bones snap and he’s able to tear his wrist through metal with nothing but a low cry in pain.

Will never thought he would put up such a fight when confronted with death. Logically he was aware of how the drive to live was the strongest in any living, breathing thing. Yet whenever he had pondered over how he’d react in a life or death situation he never expected his desire to live to be this strong. Death was a constant theme in his line of work, giving lectures on murders, discussing motives and providing profiles with the feds. It didn’t take much to snuff out a life, and escaping death was perhaps too much of a struggle to be worth the prize. At least to Will.

In this moment however, Will scrambles to his feet and immediately trips over his husband’s corpse. It doesn’t bother him exactly how unbothered he is, he’s already grown accustomed to the idea that he’s now a widower.

“By choice.” Gerald’s voice echoes in nothing but Will’s skull, but Will doesn’t stop. He’s suddenly very aware he’s drenched in a stranger’s blood, and how his colleagues at the bureau had always found him a little bit odd, to say the least. Perhaps not odd enough to murder his husband and whoever the moonlight man may be, but it would raise the question. Will picks apart crime scenes like these every day. Even if there’s evidence of his imprisonment and near damn death he would still be intensively questioned. Prodded for answers.

It’s certainly not the wisest choice to rummage through bags before stumbling downstairs and out to the car, soaked in blood in broad daylight, but his judgement may have been compromised after his encounter with death.

He speeds away through the greenery like a comet through tall trees and nothingness. On the road to another life. To forgetting. He can almost taste blissful denial when a dark figure with thick antlers suddenly steps into his line of vision, causing him to spin out of control and come crashing through the forest as the collusion of a meteor meeting the earth.

The smell of gasoline. Hands. Touching him, assessing him. _Petting_ him. Feeling his pulse, checking his bones. His neck isn’t broken, that’s good. Neither is his back. There’s a searing pain in both his legs, so he’s not paralyzed yet. Check again later.

The hands pull on his limbs, and Will attempts a scream. He slithers out of the broken window as a motionless snake. There’s red dots clouding his vision, but he can make out the sharp facial features and broad shoulders before he passes out in the arms of his demon in the warmth of sunlight.


	6. Chapter 6

To everyone’s surprise, Will wasn’t horribly traumatized. After many weeks of intensive care at Baltimore’s most prestigious hospital under the demand of the Federal Bureau of Investigation he was soon eager to go back to work. To put his head down and be left alone. Perhaps then could he repress the still so vivid memories. Yet the compelling tug of curiosity kept him open to visitors, sitting outside on the porch of his home and watching a familiar car stir up autumn leaves as it rolled up.

Alana Bloom often had a concerned way about her, worry set deep in her eyes every time she looked at Will. It only worsened seeing him with a bandaged hand and foot. It forced his gaze away in shame, praying she hadn’t come to establish a psychological evaluation on behalf of their superiors. “What brings you to Wolf Trap, Dr. Bloom?”

“You.” She offered a polite smile that never quite met her eyes, taking a seat in the chair beside him and pulling on a pair of blue cashmere gloves. Settling in for a longer stay out in the cold. “You look better.”

Will mirrored the smile and tried to ignore the feeling of being pitied. Examined. Alana couldn’t exactly help herself. “I doubt this is more than a friendly visit. Jack sent you?”

Will barely has time to finish his thought before Alana interrupts. “They got a DNA match on the blood at the cabin,” she says, attempting to keep her voice steady. Will can tell she’s trying to tread carefully, as she often does. Typical to have Alana bring him potentially damning news rather than an insensitive forensics team, as if Will was frail as a teacup. He leans forward on the edge of his seat, looking past the rim of his glasses to her dark curls tucked behind one ear. New earrings. 

“It took forensics six weeks to find a match?” he asks with little interest. His case hadn’t been officially investigated, once his husband’s cause of death became clear and with Will’s list of injuries there was no doubt none of this was to be treated as a homicide. But Will was aware there were details regarding his moonlight man that were still lost on him. Hence the curiosity.

Alana smiles in pure sympathy as she crosses her arms over her chest, trying to keep herself warm. “No. But I requested we wait to tell you until you got back on your feet.”

Will sighs. It’s not Alana’s fault, nor is the bureau’s. No one but Will knows what horrors he’s lived through, and will continue to face in his dreams. And no one knows just how much he dreams of those glowing eyes.

“Well, my feet are fine. Soon to be, anyway” he forces himself to smile, clasping his hands in his lap in feign patience. “Who is it?”

The psychiatrist hesitates for a second before taking a deep breath, fidgeting a little with nerves and frustration. “The Chesapeake Ripper.”

~

Neither Will nor the bureau could ignore the surrender of the notorious Chesapeake Ripper. As Will lay hospitalized his moonlight man was the one to be imprisoned. Hannibal Lecter, the ripper. Cannibal. Will’s moonlight man. Tormentor and savior. Will could still taste his blood on his tongue.

Will was thankful he was too severely injured at the time of the Chesapeake Ripper’s trial to partake. He would’ve been expected to bare witness of the whereabouts of Lecter’s time in hiding. Will wasn’t sure he’d count as a reliable witness, nor was he certain how the secluded cabin came in the cannibalistic serial killer’s path. There were many things Will couldn’t yet explain, which led him to stroll into Jack Crawford’s office with a minor limp still detectable in his movements.

“I told you I don’t want to see you anywhere near this building until you can at least walk straight.” Crawford says without even looking up from his paperwork. It wasn’t as much concern as it was in fear of losing a good profiler and lecturer he insisted Will stay home and recover.

Will wouldn’t be doing this unless he knew how to justify it, or at least convince his colleague he was fit for the job. He forced a smile. “I think I’ve proven myself resilient,” Will says thoughtfully, thinking back to all those times Jack had almost pushed his psyche too far with the violence and the murder. Things of horror, really. But now Will had lived his own horror story and come out on the other end, more curious than traumatized.

“There are still confessions you don’t have. Hannibal Lecter refuses to speak to anyone, let alone confess to any more than he has to.” Will walks over to Crawford’s desk, unrelenting in getting his way.

“Why confess to anything at all?” Jack replies in a playful tone. This dance with Will was proving beneficial already.

“So you’d have cause to keep him where he is for a long time to come,” Will starts carefully, turning his gaze away. “Long enough for my injuries to heal. I suspect the only evidence you have is the confessions he’s given to you.”

Crawford nods, putting the papers down and leaning back in his chair. “So you’re playing right into his hands. He surrenders by taking you to a hospital, and makes sure he’ll be there when you’re well enough to go see him. Refuses to cooperate knowing I’ll have no choice but to let you go.”

“In a nutshell.” Will attempts not to sound confrontational or like he’s hiding anything at all. Truthfully, he's not as interested in the Chesapeake Ripper’s murders than he is in their own history. But Jack Crawford doesn’t need to know that, and even if he did there’s little he could do about it.

“Don’t let him get in your head.” Crawford finally warns, but Will is already far too consumed.

~

The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane was many things, but unclean or sloppy with security was not on the list. The chief of staff, Dr. Frederick Chilton, took immense pride in showing Will the ropes, nudging elbows and discussing his latest trophy patient; Hannibal the Cannibal.

“From what I’ve heard you have your own perception of the Chesapeake Ripper, Mr. Graham. But I assure you there’s pieces of his fascinating psyche only his psychiatrist would know.” Chilton says as he leads Will down a flight of stairs.

Will refrains from laughing, only allowing the corners of his lips to twitch upward in amusement. “And that would be you?”

Chilton turns to look at him, searching for a sign of further disrespect as if he was in any position to do anything about it. They’re both aware Lecter hasn’t granted Dr. Chilton any insight to his murderous psyche or even spoken a meaningful word about the matter.

The doctor soon scurries off to undoubtedly listen in to every word spoken between Will and his moonlight man, and Will takes a deep breath before opening the door to the past.

A long wall of glass. Worn blue material stretched across a stiff looking bed. A faint light pouring in from a window far above in the ceiling, acting as a golden spotlight for the man sat patiently sketching behind a desk wedged to the floor. The man looks up, regarding him in silence for a dreadful minute or two before flashing sharp teeth as he finally speaks in an accent Will can’t quite place. “You are only made of moonlight.”

Will’s heart is pounding for freedom. The short hair allows Will a real look at his face, and surely not being delusional nor dying helps better perceive what he’s seeing. An older man, late forties or early fifties, tall figure. Lean. Prominent cheekbones, eyes dark as coal but glimmering nonetheless. The Chesapeake Ripper greets him with a smile.

“Hello, Will.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly all Will can think is that _I’ve tasted you. Digested your life source. Torn you apart and swallowed you._

“Hello, Dr. Lecter.”

Will watches as The Chesapeake Ripper stands and approaches the glass with what can only be described as caution and politeness. An excited smile tugs at his lips with his hands clasped behind his back, almost as if to assure Will his intention isn’t to try to reach through one of the holes in the glass and grab at him. He must be entirely unaware of how Will is the one with the upper hand. The notorious killer had turned himself in to save Will’s life, and now he was nearly foaming at the mouth by the mere sight of him. Will makes a point to take his time in setting his bag and coat down, however a petty pleasure it may be.

“I’m pleasantly surprised to see they managed to keep your limbs in one piece. You sustained injuries that threatened the possibility.” Lecter says thoughtfully, regarding him with an ill-fitting look of endearment. Will is painfully aware his wounds are noticeable to anyone, how the details of his nightmare is to the knowledge of the public, and most of all to Hannibal Lecter. He lets out a small huff. “Injuries you could’ve prevented had you wanted to, doctor.”

Will finally meets the Ripper’s gaze and is immediately comforted, for the marks of teeth still shine as a reminder of his own on his demon’s neck and suddenly all Will can think is that _I’ve tasted you. Digested your life source. Torn you apart and swallowed you._

“Your survival instincts didn’t fail you.” Lecter says with a smile that undoubtedly comes from a sadistic place. “Tell me, do you still dream?” he asks, head tilting to the side in a curious gesture. “Do you wake with your hands in fists, clutching the frame of your bed, screaming? Or do you dream of moonlight, Will?”

It’s provocative. Even more disturbing and invasive than the Ripper’s hand down his throat. Will feels mildly nauseous, turning his gaze away. “If you’d like me to stay I’d suggest not pushing your luck, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal allows him room to breathe, leaning back against his desk. “Quid pro quo. If you wish to bring anything of value back to uncle Jack-”

“I’d like to know why you were at the cabin to begin with.” Will interrupts, pulling up a chair and avoiding the doctor’s eyes in a carefully constructed state of fragility. Pity or compassion clearly weren’t traits found in Hannibal Lecter, but Will figured he’d be more compelled to meet Will halfway if he suspected he could be of psychological help to his recovery. Help Will gather up the pieces again, as if he wasn’t capable of doing so himself.

If Hannibal is intrigued, he’s intent on not letting it show. Will can practically see the chains keeping the Ripper seated on the edge of his desk to feign casual conversation. He draws a breath before repeating a story he had undoubtedly already told the bureau. “I came across your deceased husband when he was very much alive, and I was in search for an attorney.” he says, slowly raising his gaze to simply watch Will’s expression. The man is positively starved, and Will flirts with the idea of keeping him that way. It was only fair.

“You came to kill him.” Will rather thinks out loud than worries about keeping up the charades. It’s all hitting him now, and it’s more awful than he would’ve ever imagined.

“It would seem you completed the task for me.” Hannibal says, and the silence that follows isn’t long, but poignant. He looks nearly playful, and it makes Will sick to his stomach. He follows another train of thought, and resents the fact that his own questions led him to discomfort rather than answering Lecter’s.

“I took apart my bed,” Will mutters, mildly embarrassed of his admission. “Removed the headboard. Didn’t help, now there’s a hole in the wall.”

The adoration returns to Hannibal’s expression, a soft smile tugging at his lips and Will finds it oddly comforting. “A person in a dissociative state will believe the worst parts of life fade by ignoring them.” Hannibal says in a careful tone, the warmth of a smile morphing into mild concern. “You know better than anyone there’s no hiding from pain. Whether it comes for you in your dreams or in life.”

There’s a strange innuendo Will thinks he must be insane for even thinking it. Does Hannibal believe he’s the subject of Will’s nightmares? And was he vowing to wound him again given the chance?

“I’ll make sure to patch it up as soon as possible.” Will adjusts his glasses to catch the rim in his line of vision. Get something of value. “The cabin turned out to be a great place to hide for you.”

Hannibal looks pleased; the corners of his lips giving a small twitch before he stands and circles the desk, seemingly intent on not invading Will’s space. As if he hadn’t done so already. “For both of us,” he says, releasing a genuine smile. “Had you not been chained to that bed our roles would be reversed. You would be a murderer, Will.”

Fury bubbles hot in Will’s chest, seeping through his arteries and filling his every limb with vibrating rage. He’s had enough.

“I suppose you want me to thank you.” Will mutters before standing and throwing his coat over his arm and picking up his bag from the floor. “You listened to my every thought, watched me get swallowed and digested by death,” he rambles now, uncertain of where to go or what to do with this newfound terror. As much as it consumes him there’s still a lingering sense of stability in the presence of his moonlight man. Will knows Hannibal is right, and perhaps that’s what pains him. “I don’t dream of you, doctor Lecter.”

“What do you dream of?” Hannibal asks with a voice smooth as silk. He’s approached the glass in an obvious gesture of desperation, starved for anything Will was prepared to give. But Will’s already been drained. They stand silently for a second or two, both equally bound to one another. The intense and solid expression on Hannibal’s face has Will unwillingly scheduling his next visit in his head.

“Teeth.”


End file.
